


#FF8200 University of Tennessee Orange

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson is such a hopeless drunk, Daisy And Her Huge Crush On Coulson, Drinking, F/M, Make Daisy Happy, Season/Series 03, we need Daisy to smile more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6601252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy and Coulson get drunk together post-mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#FF8200 University of Tennessee Orange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a sequel to kivrin's "Home for Christmas"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/191110) by beadtific (Bead on AO3). 
  * Inspired by [Home for Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/60961) by [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/pseuds/Kivrin). 



> This is a #makedaisyhappy fic.
> 
> Yeah, it's silly. Hope you like. :)

„Everything’s going to hell.”  
They’re sitting in this very shady bar, trying to get a little distance between themselves and the mission, waiting for extraction, again. Everything has this strange déjà-vu quality to it, and they’re not wrong, this is pretty much their standard ending to every botched mission. She’s leaning against the bar, elbows on the counter, and he’s sitting awkwardly on one of those fake-leather bar stools. There’s a very serious look on her face, but there’s something very endearing about the way her hair is a bit of a mess (they’ve been in and out of some kind of a time spiral and basically, they’re just happy they came back with all their body parts in the right place). 

“I guess that’s what we signed up for,” he offers, the little smirk indicating that neither of them should be really serious about this. With this kind of job, a lot of things are bound to go wrong, especially lately. Today’s been a really close call for everyone, and it had come as a silent agreement that they decided to clear out and hide in this godforsaken place, just the two of them, until Hill manages to collect enough manpower to get them out of here (which, let’s be honest, won’t take more than two days, but she’s going to need those, with everyone being scattered all over the area).

She gives him a little smile, finishes her vodka; he downs his whiskey, mirroring her, and they chuckle when their eyes meet as he’s setting his glass down.  
“Enough doom for one day,” he concludes.  
“Yeah. And that’s why –“, she’s gesturing at the bartender -, “we should get some cocktails. And get drunk.”  
“Daisy –“  
“You and I both know Hill isn’t going to show up here before tomorrow evening.”  
He’s not really able to come up with a good retort, so she walks over to where the bartender is standing, explains to him the type of cocktails she wants to order. _Oh well._ He guesses he’s made worse choices than getting drunk with Daisy. Wiser choices, too.

There’s a large grin on her lips as she returns with their cocktails, two ridiculously large and ridiculously colourful concoctions with all kinds of decorations around them. He’s about to ask her if she’s serious, but to be honest, she leaves no doubt. They raise their decadently round-shaped glasses (Coulson removes a few of the flags and umbrellas pointing at his face), make a silent toast. 

After less than ten minutes, Coulson is totally enjoying himself already. Daisy seems to be content with everything, and she’s smiling at him in a way that makes him second-guess his life choices (that’s not exactly new, but Coulson feels like all attempts at shielding himself from her radiance would be a waste of energy right now, so he’s pretty vulnerable over here, sitting next to her). 

She has to order two more of these creative drinks sooner that he would have expected. Admittedly, he’s having a go at it at a much faster pace than she is, and he should probably slow down for his own sake, but there are stars in the corners of Daisy’s eyes and everything’s just too good to be true.

He’s not sure if this is just him getting drunk much faster than he has during the past few years, but he’s almost positive that Daisy’s flat-out flirting with him. Subtly, of course. To be fair, the alcohol doesn’t really seem to affect her at all, while after his second drink, Coulson feels a little far away already. Like, okay, he’s still here, and they’re still talking, so it’s probably not too obvious, but he’s not entirely sure he’s going to make it down from this bar stool without making a major fool of himself. 

Daisy is merciless, orders another cocktail for him (she hasn’t finished hers, yet, but Coulson’s glass is strangely empty, again). He can’t say no, especially since she threatens to make him dance with her if he’s trying to be a party pooper, so he extracts another umbrella from his drink, lines it up with all the other decorations.

Since she keeps asking, they end up dancing anyway. He thanks God for not making him fall over during his descent from the stool, and for not making him land square in her arms. They actually manage to make quite an attractive dance floor couple (Daisy looks like a goddess, and Coulson is trying his hardest to mirror a few of her movements without looking drunk). It’s hard not to stand too close to her, especially since he’s absolutely unable to build up any barriers whatsoever against her incredible smile. She doesn’t mind, either; on the contrary, there are two occasions upon which she pulls him closer. 

He’s never going to know if it was because of the way she looked at him or because of the alcohol, but he feels quite insecure on his feet as they’re walking back to their spot at the bar. Okay, he’s the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., he’s pretty sure he’s handling this with dignity, but he wonders if he’s coming across as tipsy already. As long as she keeps smiling at him like that, though, he doesn’t care. Daisy orders two small vodkas; he knocks it back like it’s water, and that’s definitely a sign that he’s had enough for today. 

He looks at her to check if she agrees that they should be leaving, and she’s beaming.  
“Are you having. A good time?” It comes out a little more slurred than he would have expected, but she still looks happy.  
“Yeah. Thanks, Coulson. This is perfect.”  
He has to blink all of a sudden, and it takes just a little bit longer than it normally does, but he’s smiling back at her like an idiot.  
“How about you, Phil?”  
He can feel his heart pound like a marching band drum, but he manages to reply nonetheless.  
“I’m great. Especially. Since I’m in the company of. The prettiest girl I know.”  
And with that, he slowly puts one of the umbrellas he extracted from his cocktails into her hair. It’s a bright orange, and the small circle it describes almost looks like a flower in Daisy’s hair.  
She carefully touches it with her fingertips, smiles a little shyly.  
“Thank you.”

He can’t really say he’s contributed much to their walk back to the motel, since Daisy’s practically been carrying him there (okay, he still knew how to use his feet, but his sense of navigation has gone to hell). Once they are in the bedroom, he sort of just falls onto the bed, mumbling something about a nice evening, smiling like a small child.

When he wakes up, Daisy’s there right next to him, and his headache makes him expect not to remember anything from the previous night, but she looks him straight in the eye, touches the small orange paper umbrella in her hair, asks, “Did you mean that?”  
To nod is all he can bring himself to do, because he’s made such a fool of himself, and she looks otherworldly beautiful in this weirdly yellow light shining into the room through the shades, and she’s looking at him. 

He can tell she’s taken up sparring again, because all of a sudden, she’s on top of him, hands on his chest, straddling him, and he’s lost, _lost_. He’s looking up at her and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind dying after this, because he doubts life could have anything else in store for him that he would deem better than this: better than Daisy looking at him like he’s the most unbelievable thing in the world, like _she’s in love with him_.  
“I love you,” he whispers, and it sounds a little more tragic, a little more pathetic that he’d intended.

“I know,” she replies, “you gave yourself away last night.”  
She finally kisses him, wildly, boldly, then continues to smile at him like their kiss is the best thing that’s ever happened.  
He won’t fight her on that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Tell me what you think :)
> 
> I read a Buffy/Giles fic once (written by kivrin and beadtific on livejournal) and the paper umbrella I read about really left an impression, so I decided to bring the idea into this fic.
> 
> The colour I used in the title exists.
> 
>  
> 
> _@Bead: Hope you don't mind I'm gifting this to you._  
>  _I just wanted to let you know I loved your fic and I hope it's okay that I stole your umbrella. :)_


End file.
